


Luck

by Twyd



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bombs, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Exile, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Isolation, Living Together, M/M, Nature, On the Run, Organized Crime, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Slash, Survival, Trauma, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 08:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15882465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twyd/pseuds/Twyd
Summary: Prompted by Kanra-chan - Shizaya war AU. Izaya on the run and an isolated and lonely Shizuo, co-existing at the end of the world.





	Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanra_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanra_chan/gifts).



Izaya is on the run because of two mistakes. His first mistake was with Shiki - his first mistake, but a serious one nonetheless. Shiki had been looking for an excuse to get rid of him for a long time, and the war would make it even easier. The informant couldn’t afford to take the risk, and had bolted.

Running however is not as simple as he imagined - at least half of the surrounding areas were marked dangerous, and all the resources were falling to the powerful. So, Izaya goes to Shiki’s worst enemy. He reckons he can sit it out with him until the worst is past - they’re saying the war will be over any day now - and Shiki will have too much on his plate to chase Izaya down until the end of time.

Only, this second mistake is the one that nearly kills him, for this man is far worse than Shiki. So for the second time that year, Izaya runs.

This is how he comes to be following an old road along a river, in the vague direction of Ikebukuro, but he can’t be sure. He knows everyone had been evacuated to the countryside, but apparently not here, as he’d been walking for two days and hadn’t seen or heard a soul. Even most of the animals appeared to have packed up and left. Even in the burning sunlight, the land has an eerie and apocalyptic air. Izaya is beginning to not care.

He lives off rainwater and nuts and berries, and it hasn’t killed him yet, though he has a stomach ache and a near-constant feeling of nausea. He had made a miscalculation in his route, and had been lost for longer than he knew. Then he hears something.

He stands still, ears pricked. It is a steady sound that it takes his urban-raised brain a moment to place. Chopping wood. He takes his knife out of his pocket and inches nearer to the hedges walling the road. There is a run-down house through the gap in the leaves. A tall blonde man is in the front yard with his shirt off. After a moment, apparently deciding the axe was too much trouble, he throws it aside and begins to break huge chunks of wood with his bare hands, barely grunting with the effort.

Izaya stares until the other seems to sense his presence. The man lifts his head and stares back.

“What are you looking at?” he barks, making the informant jump.

He blinks, and lowers the knife slightly.

“Can I have some water?” he blurts.

The man stares at him for another minute.

“You could, if you didn’t have a knife pointed at me.”

Izaya pockets it immediately, too tired to argue.

“Wait here,” the man growls, and leaves him

Izaya leans against the hedge while he waits. He stares at the house. It is like something from a story book, out here in the countryside. Why was the man here by himself? Was he in some way exiled too? Maybe he was an escaped convict. God knows the war had presented enough opportunities with its chaos.

The man comes back with a glass of water and a gruff expression.

“You can come in.”

Izaya enters the garden and sits at the patio table at the gestures of the other man. He sips his water with his eyes closed, savouring the peace, the cleanliness of the glass. The other man disappears again, and returns with a bowl of soup and some tea.

“Come on, you obviously need it,” he growls, when Izaya stares at him.

Against his better judgement, he eats it all up, slowly, shuddering at the sensation of real, hot food. The other watches him moodily.

“You run away from prison or something?”

Izaya laughs out loud.

“I was just thinking that about you,” he chuckles.

The other man frowns in response.

Izaya continues, “I’m not out of prison, I’m- “

He breaks off then, listening. They both hear it. Izaya looks at the stranger with such desperation that the man somehow doesn’t think twice about helping him.

“Come inside,” he says. He leads Izaya to a back room and pulls up a rug to reveal a trapdoor. “Keep quiet,” he says, pushing him down. He has just smoothed the rug back in place when there’s a knock at the door. Izaya listens to the man’s footsteps across the room, heart pounding.

“Afternoon,” comes a familiar voice that sends him cold. “You haven’t happened to see this man, have you? We believe he’s hiding somewhere around here and he’s very dangerous.”

“Sorry, I haven’t seen anyone,” Izaya’s host replies. He sounds convincing enough, but there’s a little silence all the same.

“You wouldn’t mind if we looked around, would you?” the other voice comes mildly. “He’s very dangerous, you see. He might have slipped in when you weren’t looking.”

“Be my guest.”

Footsteps spread out over Izaya’s head, opening doors, pulling back furniture.

“Is it just yourself living here?” his enemy calls lazily.

“Yup.”

“And why is it you did not evacuate?”

Izaya hears him growl under his breath, clearly not liking the question. “I missed the buses. And it’s safe enough out here.”

“What about the raids? Don’t you have a cellar?”

Izaya feels blindly for his knife. If they come down here he’ll slit his wrists open, it’ll be better than-

“Sure do.”

 _What?_ He knows they just met, but was he going to sell him out just like that?

“It’s right outside,” his host says, leading them away from the rug. “See, right next to the front door.”

“Hm. Normally these houses have the cellar connected to the kitchen in some way.”

“Not this one,” the other man says, like he’s shrugging. “It’s pretty good. It goes deeper so it’s a good bomb shelter.”

When they finally leave, Izaya’s legs are shaking. His savior’s voice comes through the door, but he doesn’t open it.

“Stay down there for a while, OK? I don’t like the look of that guy - I’ve got a feeling he’s gonna hang round for a while.”

Izaya’s too relieved and too exhausted to even care. He slumps down to lean against the wall, tries not to think about the rats and cockroaches that were probably down here with him, and sleeps.

-

Someone is shaking him. He jumps, but hands close round his wrists before he can get his knife. Gentle hands.

“It’s me,” the stranger’s voice comes. “I think they’re gone. Come and have something to eat.”

The man leads him out to a kitchen. The curtains are drawn, their way lit with an oil-lamp and pillar candles. A stove is burning in the kitchen, and he can hear the faint crackle of a fireside.

“This is like Goldilocks or something,” Izaya hears himself saying.

The other man gives a bitter little smile. “Not quite.”

Izaya doesn’t speak again until the other man serves a fresh bowl of broth, rice and tea in front of him.

“Why’d you help me?” he blurts. “What if I am dangerous?”

“That guy had a way more dangerous look than you,” the stranger says dismissively. “And I’m pretty sure I’m more dangerous than both of you put together.”

Izaya eyes him warily at this.

“What’s your name?”

“Shizuo. Shizuo Heiwajima.”

“I’m Izaya Orihara,” he says, too worn out to think up a fake name.

“Nice to meet you, Izaya Orihara. Can we eat now?”

They eat. Shizuo brings him a nip of brandy afterwards, and they take it over to the fire. Izaya wonders if he’s actually died and that this is some sort of in-between place. Then he takes a sip of brandy and shudders back to reality. Nope, he’s definitely still alive.

“What’s with all the provisions?” Izaya asks him. “Are you clairvoyant? It seems like you’ve been ready for the war for years.”

“I wasn’t, but someone was. I brought a few things with me, but this place was mostly like this when I got here. I guess it was abandoned when people started going further into the country - there was plenty of rice and crops left. I just had to clean it up a lot and fix the plumbing, then it was good.”

A little silence ensues.

“So, Izaya Orihara,” Shizuo says now, and Izaya cringes inside, knowing what’s coming. “Tell me about yourself. Why does that man say you’re dangerous?”

The informant smiles thinly.

“I thought you didn’t believe that?”

“Whether I do or don’t, I still deserve to know something about the guy staying in my house, don’t you think?”

“Staying?” Izaya frowns. “You’re very kind, but I’ll be on my way soon- “

“It’s freezing tonight, and there’s a spare room,” Shizuo cuts him off. “And I reckon you’re about as crazy with loneliness as I’m getting.”

Izaya stares at him, neither confirming or denying this.

“Come on,” Shizuo says, gesturing for him to speak.

“OK,” Izaya says, deciding for some bizarre reason to trust him. “I’m an informant.”

Shizuo’s eyes widen.

“A spy, you mean? Like, for the government?”

“Sometimes. But more often than not for the - more unsavoury type.”

“The bad guys.”

“If you like.”

“So you’re in trouble.”

He nods.

“I ran out on one of my clients, who you had the good fortune of meeting. Not because I couldn’t get his information but because, well, you said it yourself, he’s a dangerous guy.”

Shizuo nods.

“So what’s your plan? You just gonna keep walking til you hit Ikebukuro? There’s nothing there, everyone was evacuated months ago.”

“Alas, for once in my strategic life I have no plan,” he sighs. “I just needed to get out, and now I’m just biding my time. They keep saying that the war’s almost over. Though of course they could say that for the next five years, if history is anything to go by.”

They both lapse into a depressed silence. Izaya eyes Shizuo before he eventually speaks again.

“So what about you?”

Shizuo eyes him back, and sighs.

“I might as well tell you. You already saw me with the wood.” That already felt like a lifetime ago. “My neighbourhood was one of the last places to be evacuated. The buses were crammed and they started running out of space. Because I’m so strong, and because I technically have a criminal record…”

“They squoze you out?”

“I volunteered, but it’s the same difference.”

Izaya feels the urge to laugh at this display from his humans, but thinks better of it.

“You have a criminal record?” he says instead.

“Property damage,” Shizuo says, sounding sheepish. “I have a bit of a temper.”

Another comfortable silence ensues. Izaya feels himself staring into the fire, the flames mixing with the darkness as his eyes droop. It’s considerably burned down by the time Shizuo gives him a shake.

“I made up the spare room for you,” he says. “It should be warm, but let me know if you want extra blankets.”

Izaya stares at him hazily. It takes him a moment to remember where he was.

“You’re really letting me stay here, just like that?” he says. “What if I knife you in my sleep so I have this place to myself?”

Shizuo scowls at him.

“Do what you fucking want. I’m just doing what I think is right.”

He follows Shizuo mechanically up the wooden stairs to a small bedroom with a sloping ceiling. The remains of the fire drift up through the floorboards, so the bed is nice and toasty when he slides in. He sniffs the bedding dubiously, but it has the sweet smell of recent soap. He kicks off his dirty clothes and snuggles down.

He will wake up early, he thinks, leave a note to say thanks and get out.

-

That is the plan. But when he wakes, he can feel by the heat through the curtains and the smell of food from down below that it is already well into morning. He groans. Pulling on his clothes, he comes out rubbing his eyes, finds a bathroom to relieve himself and splash his face with water.

“Morning,” Shizuo says, when he comes down the stairs. He pours the informant some tea. “Sleep OK?”

“Yes, thanks.” He pauses. “I’ll get going after this.”

Shizuo nods like he’d expected this.

“I’ll make you some food for the road.”

Izaya stares at him, unable to comprehend how someone could be so kind, to someone he didn’t even seem to like that much.

They have rice for breakfast with a porridge like texture. Izaya notices Shizuo douses his in sugar. Funny, he didn’t look like someone with a sweet tooth. Shizuo pours them more tea when they’re done, and Izaya sits there with his hands cupped round it, trying to hold on to the feeling of warmth and comfort and company.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Shizuo says eventually into the silence. “You look like you wouldn’t last long out there.”

“It’d be bad for you if they find me here.”

“I can risk that.”

Izaya shakes his head. Shizuo doesn’t understand.

“It’s just, it’d be easier to have another pair of hands here,” Shizuo says tentatively. “Y’know, growing stuff. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. The cleaning too is a bit of a handful. And maybe you could set the radio up. I’m no good with things like that.”

Izaya looks at him. The idea has more appeal if he’s an equal and not dependent on charity. God knew that hadn’t worked out for him before. “That’s all?” he says cautiously.

Shizuo shrugs. “Like I said, it’d be nice to have someone to talk to sometimes.”

Izaya agrees to this plan. He lets Shizuo show him the vegetable garden and rice field, how to draw water for a bath, how to get into the outdoor cellar. He can always take off if it doesn’t work out, he thinks.

Izaya is nervous around the man even so. He is nervous around everyone since his last spectacular misjudgement of character. He thinks he is pretty subtle about it, but Shizuo eventually snaps.

“If you’re gonna keep looking at me like I’m a fucking animal then you can get out!”

Shizuo however looks shamefaced at his outburst, particularly when Izaya stops eating. The informant pushes his place away and goes back to fiddling with the radio. He doesn’t see Shizuo again until they rejoin in the kitchen for dinner, and in this time he has got the radio working and tuned into to a 24 hour news station, found and cleaned a dozen pots to save rainwater and found material to cover the windows along with the curtains to serve as black-outs.

He tells this to a bemused Shizuo as they slice vegetables. They sit down to dinner together, with none of the tension from before.

“So, you have any brothers or sisters?” Shizuo asks him.

And this is how a bizarre routine sets in. They work on the crops, the house, go for walks, listen to the radio, read the few books that are scattered around and eat together in the evening. Izaya suspects cabin fever will set in sooner or later and they will actually kill each other, but so far he’s actually almost happy.

-

The first raid comes when Izaya had been living with Shizuo for about four months. Winter had well and truly set in, and Izaya knows he probably would have died if Shizuo hadn’t taken him in. They’re in the deep cellar. Shizuo had brought a torch but dropped it, and they give up after a few useless minutes of crawling around.

It’s worse than an Earthquake. It’s worse than anything, the world whistling and shaking as if they’re being attacked by a giant animal. They jump after one particularly hard crash, and cling  to each other like children.

“Fuck,” Shizuo says, voice shaking. “I wonder if this is actually it.”

“No-one’s going to bomb the middle of nowhere,” Izaya says hoarsely. “With the blackouts up no-one would even know this house is here.”

“Then what the fuck is going on? You say it like there’s some kind of rational thinking behind this fucking war.”

And Izaya almost smiles, because even in a literal life or death situation they would find something to bicker about. Another crash comes, and they cling to each other even harder. Izaya’s almost resigned to death now. He only clings to comfort Shizuo and because it feels sort of nice. He’s almost glad it’ll finally be over.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Shizuo says into his hair, interrupting his thoughts. His voice is raw. “I know we don’t get on that well, but I would have gone crazy without you these past few months.”

Izaya is suddenly gripped by the feeling that they _will_ die like this, that they will be blown to smithereens and no-one would ever know what became of them, let alone that they met. He presses his lips to Shizuo’s in the dark.

All of a sudden, it stops. Their kiss stops too. They break apart and wait. Shizuo holds Izaya’s hand in the dark.

“Let’s go up,” Shizuo says eventually, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. They go up the stairs hand in hand.

The bombs don’t come back that night. They sit by the fire in blankets, occasionally passing each other a bottle of sake. Izaya is quiet and peaceful inside. He is somehow unworried by the fact that he kissed Shizuo. It feels far away and unimportant. He imagines Shizuo feels the same. There are much more important things to think about, after all.

That is, until Shizuo puts his hand on Izaya’s thigh. He does it so clumsily that Izaya almost thinks it’s an accident, until he looks up and sees the fear and hope in Shizuo’s eyes. Izaya pulls him forward and sheds their clothes, the fire and their heat keeping them warm.

“Let’s go to bed,” Shizuo murmurs, when the flames have all but died, and when they go up the stairs, he pulls Izaya with him into his own room.

They sleep in the same room from then.

-

Izaya is feeling lazy. He has soup simmering on the stove with the radio, while Shizuo chops wood. He puts his feet on the coffee table and lets his head tip back, eyes closed. Shizuo would come in and kiss him on the forehead, and they would talk about what was on the radio, have some inane argument and cuddle in front of the fire before going to bed. Things could be worse. A word on the radio catches his attention then, and he sits up to listen. He turns up the volume to drown out Shizuo’s chopping, thinking he must have misheard.

“ _Shizuo!!”_ he yells.

Shizuo bursts through the door, faster than Izaya knew he was capable of moving?

“What is it? Have you hurt yourself?”

Izaya shakes his head impatiently, thrusting the radio towards him.

_“Listen.”_

Some static comes and goes with Izaya’s unhelpful push, before the Prime Minister’s voice - “I can confirm again, the war is over. We are in the process of- ”

They both crowd round the radio like children over a pixie and grip each other’s hands, squeezing without saying anything.

-

The radio becomes their God - each day it has updates; this city’s evacuees have returned, this area received more age, so and so TV stations and establishments are returning to working order. It gives a new dynamic to their intimacy as well; they have a future. Either a future or ending, their current routine is coming to an end.

“We could go back to Shinjuku and Ikebukuro,” Izaya says dreamily. “Even if our homes are bombed, they’d put us up somewhere, they said.”

Shizuo gives him a little squeeze. “Izaya.” His voice is small. Izaya turns over to look at him. “I know we’ve been kind of stuck together from the start, but now that things are getting better, do you want...I mean, do you want to…?”

Izaya smirks all over his face.

“Has Shizu-chan grown attached to me?” he says, cupping Shizuo’s cheek mockingly.

“Shut up,” he grumbles. His tone turns serious again. “Just promise me you won’t...disappear. I know you must have thought about it at the beginning. It’s OK if you want to go, I won’t stop you, but don’t ever just leave without saying anything, OK?”

Izaya gives him a hug.

“Of course I won’t,” he says, mumbling a bit, unused to such blatant conversations of affection. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll go with you wherever you want.”

Shizuo relaxes so completely it’s as if part of him melts.

“Thank you.” Then he grins himself. Then he sighs and stretches like a cat. “Man, that is the only thing I’ve been worried about. Now I can really be happy about the end of this lousy fucking war.”

-

If the weather is anything to go by, Izaya has been living with Shizuo for at least a year. They set off just after dawn, carrying what they can. Izaya is more wary than excited. He feels like he is leaving his safe little bubble, and expects to see an old dreaded face round every corner and treetrunk. Shizuo, oblivious, chats about his brother and the bar he worked in, and Izaya can’t bear to bring him down.

When they finally reach Shizuo’s old district, the city is apparently in chaos. There are crowds everywhere, queuing for food, sitting on the ground. Everywhere is dirty, some buildings nothing but rubble. The strange thing is that everyone is smiling. People are hugging and sharing what they have. Izaya frowns, skeptical. This can’t last. Some establishments have re-opened and are offering free drinks or snacks - those that can’t find room inside take their dishes out with them and spoon them up in the sun, chatting with their peers and children.

“Russia Sushi’s open!” Shizuo exclaims.

“ _Russia_ Sushi?” Izaya repeats, thinking he must have misheard him, but Shizuo is too busy dragging him off. They have to queue for a long time to be able to sit down, but Izaya has to admit the food is worth it. It’s odd to be among so many people again.

“I feel feral,” he murmurs in Shizuo’s ear. “I hope nobody notices.”

“Oh, you’re definitely feral,” Shizuo says cheerfully, putting his arm around him. “But I like you anyway.”

“ _You’re_ the monster out of the two of us, Shizu-chan,” Izaya huffs, but doesn’t shrug him off. Shizuo’s goofy grin is far too adorable for that.

Shizuo finds his brother when he goes up to the bar. Izaya has a sick, almost murderous surge of jealousy when he sees Shizuo all but fall and sob on this good looking young man, until they’re introduced, and he sees that the resemblance is actually quite obvious. Shizuo finds a couple of other friends too, and they all squash up on a table together. Izaya sits there with his stomach clenching as they chat to each other. He’d never had many friends. Perhaps he and Shizuo would drift, as reality sucked them further into its churn.

“Nii-san?”

He jerks his head up, just in time to be mauled by two identical nuisances. He holds them for a long time, forgetting Shizuo, forgetting his enemies, forgetting the war itself.

When he pulls back, there is a lady smiling over them, a respectful distance away.

“This is Ami-san, our foster mum,” Mairu says. Of course, the flights in and out of Japan wouldn’t be resumed for some time. Their parents were probably frantic.

The group somehow make room for these three newcomers at their already squashed table. Shizuo squeezes his hand between their thighs as they catch up with their respective siblings.

“I need the bathroom,” he says, and no-one seems to hear him over the chatter. He wriggles free, and the space he left behind is instantly closed as if he was never there. He climbs over people’s legs and dodges the stressed out Russian waiters until he’s in the bathroom. He smiles at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands.

Maybe he should relax. After all, he’s made it this far. He has plenty of lives left, or so it seems.

He steps out, still smiling, right into Shiki’s path. He had clearly been watching and waiting for him.

“Izaya,” the other man deadpans, as his heart sinks. “Come with me.”

He follows Shiki mechanically to his car. His stomach drops as he realises he’s going to _disappear_ on Shizuo, that Shiki would be clean about it and make sure Izaya was gone without a trace, probably at the bottom of Tokyo Bay, and it would eat Shizuo up for years and years. The thought makes him want to sob more than that of his own death.

“Can I make one last request, please?” Izaya says humbly, once they’re in the car.

Shiki gives him an incredulous look.

“You have a nerve requesting anything,” he says. The car doesn’t pull away. Shiki just sits there, apparently assessing him. “Let’s talk first,” the other man says eventually. “I know who you ran to.”

Izaya nods wearily.

“I should think that was punishment enough in itself,” Shiki says, shaking his head. “What on earth were you thinking? I’m amazed to see you still in one piece, and I do mean that literally. He’s a sadistic man. A sadistic and spoiled man, who’s been getting away with more than usual in the circumstances.”

Izaya nods again miserably. He knows all this.

“So talk,” Shiki commands. “Was it you who killed him?”

Izaya lifts his head in amazement. Could it be true…?

Shiki notes his surprise. “...you didn’t know?”

Izaya shakes his head.

“I ran from him too,” he says. “I’ve been...hiding. I’ve been terrified of bumping into him.”

“Well, you can cross that one off your list,” Shiki says cryptically. He gives Izaya another once-over, and sighs. “Look, like I said, I think the time you spent with him would have been punishment enough. With everything that’s been going on, it seems too...petty to take it further. But I’m warning you Izaya, don’t run from me again. If you make mistakes you have to face them.”

Izaya is nodding, weak with relief.

Shiki nods once himself, apparently satisfied. “Get out.”

Izaya stumbles back to the bar. He is so disoriented he can’t remember where they were sitting, just stumbles round like a blind animal, until Shizuo’s arm shoots out and curls around him, pulling him down to his side.

“There you are. I was getting worried,” Shizuo says, nuzzling him. “Did you get lost?”

He nods. And then he begins to shake. He shakes as if he were freezing cold and can’t stop.

“What is it?” Shizuo says anxiously, peering at him. “Are you sick? _Shinra!_ ”

“It’s shock,” one of Shizuo’s friends says sympathetically, watching him. “Kadota had it too. You should take him home and let him rest.”

“But we don’t have a home,” Shizuo says. “We just got here, all my apartment block is gone.”

“He has a fever too,” Shinra’s voice comes. “Go to the hotels on Chrome Street - they’re taking people in who lost their buildings.”

“Can you give him anything?”

“He doesn’t need anything, just rest. Here’s where I’m staying - bring him if he gets worse.”

“OK, we’ll go now - you girls, tell me where you’re staying, we’ll come and see you.”

Izaya lets Shizuo do all the work, drifting in and out of consciousness as they get to the street. He fortunately stops shaking by the time they get there - they might have quarantined him - and just slumps against Shizuo, exhausted.

The girl at the desk gives them a sympathetic look.

“Separate rooms or together?”

“Together,” Shizuo says at once.

He takes them up the lift, puts Izaya in bed and clambers in beside him.

“Feel better?” he whispers.

“Yes.” Izaya snuggles in his arms. He attempts to smile. “Imagine, running water again. Newspapers. I’m excited already.”

“Izaya,” Shizuo says, refusing to be distracted.

Izaya sighs, and tells him what happened. It brings back the shakes a little, but ultimately makes him feel better, like he’s drawn the poison out.

“Man,” Shizuo says, when he’s finished. “I can’t figure out if you’re really lucky or really unlucky.”

“Oh, I’m really lucky,” Izaya murmurs, wrapping a leg around Shizuo to go with his arms. He can always blame it on the fever when Shizuo teases him later. “I’m really fucking lucky.”

**Author's Note:**

> This took forever and a day to edit, so sorry for any mistakes.


End file.
